


Winter Silks

by obstinate_as_an_allegory



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Constance is the voice of reason, Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3382157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinate_as_an_allegory/pseuds/obstinate_as_an_allegory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to 2.04 Emilie. Constance confronts Aramis about what she saw in the tent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Silks

‘Aramis?’

He startled, foolishly. Constance was hovering at the foot of an elegant staircase. The others produced a mumbled chorus of greetings; d”Artagnan’s face relaxing into a soppy grin. Aramis raised his eyebrows.

‘The queen asked me to bring up the new winter fabrics. But the boxes are heavy. Would you…?’

He stared at her for a beat too long. ‘Ah – of course,’ he blurted, attempting a smile and a little bow to hide his surprise. He shot a look sideways at Porthos. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

He didn’t look at Athos but knew all the same that he would be glaring a warning into the back of his head. As they left, d’Artagnan could be heard grumbling, and Porthos sniggering at him for the lovesick puppy that he was.

Aramis followed Constance along a corridor, round to the servants’ quarters and down to some sort of storeroom. D’Artagnan, no doubt, was wondering why his assistance would not have done just as well where shifting heavy boxes was concerned, if it meant a few minutes of Constance’s company. Aramis, however, had an inkling why she had asked him.

She cast a look up and down the corridor to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard, and even then moved close to him in a rustle of skirts. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she hissed.

He looked down at his hands sheepishly. He had the good sense not to ask what she was talking about.

‘You and me both,’ he murmured. She tensed angrily and he rocked away from her just slightly, his cheek remembering the imprint of her palm. She noticed, and huffed in fond exasperation. The half-smile crumbled quickly into something tense and frightened.

‘When did – I mean, how long has…? Oh. You idiot. What were you thinking? Idiot. I can’t believe…’

He nodded. As she spoke she looked anxiously between his face and the empty doorway. At last, she seemed to settle on the question she wanted to ask and she looked him squarely in the eye.

‘Are you in love with her?’

He held her gaze for a long moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. His throat worked anxiously for a moment as he wondered if this was either true or the right answer. ‘Or, at least…’ Her eyes hardened dangerously.

‘Because, if this is about _conquest_ , or about getting one over on the king, then so help me…’

‘ _No_ ,’ he spluttered, offended. She stared at him carefully for a moment before nodding.

He sighed heavily. ‘There’s no future in it, Constance. I’m not so much of a fool that I don’t…’

She put a hand on his arm, an automatic, compassionate gesture, then stared at it as though surprised it had acted of its own accord. ‘What then?’ she asked quietly. Suddenly she sounded desperately sad, and he wondered if she was thinking of d’Artagnan.

He cast around for a degree of honesty that would not put either of them in any more danger than they were already. ‘It’s… it was. Just a stolen moment, when we both… needed to…’

‘How many times, before this week in the tent?’ she asked, not looking at him.

‘Once.’ It was scarcely more than a breath. A prayer, almost.

She leaned back against the door frame, contemplating him sadly. ‘I’m not going to lecture you, Aramis. God knows I’m in no place to tell you about the sanctity of marriage.’

He offered her a faded version of his usual smile. ‘Constance, remember to whom you are speaking,’ he teased softly.

It registered with the faintest of smiles. ‘She’s a good woman. This could be so dangerous for her.’

‘I know.’

‘And for you,’ she added sharply.

‘I know.’

She winced. ‘But nobody else knows?’

‘Just Athos.’ She glanced up in panic and then nodded. Just Athos. Athos would not betray them any more than Constance would.

She let out a long, shaky breath, and then her eyes snapped suddenly back to his face. ‘Oh God. Oh God, is the Dauphin…?’ She stared at him, eyes huge and round. He opened his mouth to reply. ‘No. Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.’

‘That’s probably for the best,’ he said diplomatically. Her eyes were still huge, though. ‘Uhh… Did you really want me to bring one of these boxes up?’

She laughed. ‘Yes. Might as well put you to work. It’s these…’ She crossed the room towards him, heaving one bundle of fabric on top of another to make them easier to carry. Closer now, she caught his eye and thumped him lightly on the chest. ‘For God’s sake be careful, Aramis.’

‘I will be,’ he promised.

She chewed her lip. ‘I am… glad. That you were… there for her.’ Her voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible. He gaped at her. There was a peculiar spark in her eyes when she looked up at him again, like a challenge, but her voice stayed soft. ‘Sometimes I think it must be so lonely, being the queen.’

He shifted awkwardly. ‘What about you, Constance?’ he ventured. ‘There’s no need for you to be…’

‘None of your business,’ she said firmly. He raised his eyebrows, but did not argue.

She gave him a quick smile. ‘Can you manage all that?’

He grinned, hefting the bundles in both arms. ‘I believe so. Lead on, Constance.’


End file.
